Insensitve
by kazakichik
Summary: Her feelings eat away at her. Her heart is glass. Help me, she thinks. I want to feel.
1. Chapter 1

PROLOGUE

**Disclaimer: **I do not own The Transporter or anything affiliated with it. I do own Sophie. The song is Pretty Fly for a White Guy by The Offspring.

"Turn on the blinker."

"Dad, I _know!_"

"Wait a little—Sophie!"

"Will you calm _down_? I've been doing this for like four months dad, I think I know when to turn. Have a little faith."

"Sorry honey, I know you know what you're doing. Ya can't really blame the old man for worrying."

"I know you worry Daddy, but it's gonna be fine. The tests will be easy!" Sophie Jones told her father. He sighed.

They pulled up to the DMV, and Sophie almost ran to the door. Her father followed her slowly. She rushed through the doors; Ben Jones was greeted with the sight of his bouncing sixteen-year-old daughter waiting for him impatiently by the front desk. He signed the necessary forms and Sophie pranced over to one of the computers. But before she sat down, she jogged back over to the man who had raised her alone for the last eleven years, threw her arms around him, and asked him to wish her luck. He obliged and watched a little worriedly as she plopped down at a station.

Forty five minutes later, Sophie Jones had her driver's license, much to the hidden dismay of her father. Following another huge hug on the part of Sophie, they strolled back to the car she had received for her birthday, a black '69 Charger, her baby. She and her father had spent the entire summer before the beginning of junior year restoring and outfitting it with performance parts. What surprised Sophie the most, however, was that her father was so apprehensive about letting her drive it. Deciding to put it out of her mind, at least for now, she pulled out of the parking lot.

Turning the radio on full blast, she shouted over the music. "See Daddy, I told you I'd pass!" Her father merely shook his head and laughed a little. "You totally had nothing to worry about." Distracted, she didn't notice that she had run a red light, narrowly missing a collision with a semi.

"Watch the road!" her father bellowed.

"Sorry," she said sheepishly. Suddenly she screamed. "This is my favorite song!" She proceeded to giggle girlishly, as she was prone to do. Growing up in the upscale residential area of San Diego, one adopts certain habits that are hard to break.

"_Pretty fly for a white guy…_" Sophie sang nasally, making her father laugh. She giggled again, and turned slightly in her seen to talk to him. "Daddy---"

"Sophie!" her father yelled. She turned to the front in time to see a pick-up truck barreling toward them at ninety miles per hour. Her mind chose that moment to freeze; all of her training and lessons scattered; she didn't know what to do. She screamed.

"I love you Sophie!" her father shouted to her before the truck slammed into them.

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The lights flashed above her. She was vaguely aware of a dull ache in her legs and back, as well as her head. The lights kept moving by quickly. They were so pretty; she smiled wanly. Then there were distant voices. They seemed to be telling her everything was going to be fine; she was going to be fine. With that knowledge in mind, she calmly floated off into the black void that was accompanied by the cool flow of air down her nose and the slight pinch on the inside of her left elbow.


	2. Chapter 2

CHAPTER ONE

ONE MONTH LATER

Sophie sighed as she looked out of the window, listening to the man next to her talk about something or another. Since the...accident, her uncle Max Tarconi, the only remaining family she had, had come from France to take care of her, at least until she turned eighteen and went back to the States for college. Strangely, she wasn't all that upset that he was taking her back to France with him. She had always wanted to go there, and since she had gotten released from the hospital she hadn't had much of a life anyway. She had locked herself into her room and had refused any human contact for almost two weeks, and crying herself to sleep every night. She hadn't started school with everybody else either. Finally, after a particularly bad day on which she had refused to get out of bed, the housekeeper had forcibly extracted Sophie from her haven and made her sit outside. Then, a week later, she was informed she would be moving to France since her uncle couldn't leave his job. And now she was on a plane heading for Marseilles, tuning out her uncle's stories about what a wonderful place it was. Some turbulence jolted her from her thoughts.

"…before you start school. Would you like that?"

She turned her head and looked at him. "Sorry, what?"

He sighed. "Would you like to rest and get used to France for a month before you start school?"

"Oh…yes, that would be wonderful."

Tarconi leaned into the plush backing of his seat and smiled, satisfied that his niece had said more than three words at once to him. They hadn't really connected yet. "I would like to stop somewhere before we head to the hotel."

"Where are we going?" Sophie asked, now interested.

"I want to visit an old friend, actually. He is the son of my old partner."

Sophie nodded and resumed looking out of the oblong slab of glass until the plane landed.

After an hour of baggage claims and airport security procedures, uncle and niece emerged into the bright sunlight of southern France. Sophie took a moment to breathe and look at her surroundings before sitting in the car and driving with her uncle to the residence of his mysterious friend.

Forty-five minutes later, the old four-door pulled onto the gated the driveway of a Spanish-looking villa. She stepped out of the car and stretched her long legs, clad in dark jeans. Standing up, she caught her first glimpse of Frank Martin.

He came walking out of the door with his arms crossed and a friendly smirk on his handsome face. He was wearing a rich-colored dress shirt and black slacks, confidence practically radiating off of him. What caught her attention the most, however, were his eyes. They were the kind of eyes that caught you off guard. Light blue, friendly, but at the same time held a reserved self assurance. Next to those, she noticed his sculpted features. All in all, Frank Martin was the epitome of rugged handsomeness.

"Good to see you Frank," her uncle said.

"You too." They talked quietly for a minute until Frank turned his attention to Tarconi's niece. "Who's this?"

"Ah, this would be my niece Sophie. She will be living with me until college," Max said, looking at her with something resembling pride. "Sophie, Frank Martin, Frank, Sophie Jones." They shook hands, Sophie's many bracelets jingling, and she couldn't help but notice how strong his hand felt. "Now, what do you have to eat?" he asked, though not altogether jokingly.

Frank laughed, a full, rich sound. His visitors followed him into the kitchen. The three ate lunch in relative silence, only the occasional jumbled phrase coming out of her uncle's full mouth. For a French man, he didn't have a lot of restraint when it came to cuisine. Finally, the food was gone, and Frank and Max resumed talking after Frank had given Max and himself a glass of wine; Sophie got an Orangina, and somehow that irked her. Frank noticed her snatch up the can with something resembling annoyance, and merely raised an eyebrow. Sophie almost scowled. Didn't _everyone_, including kids, drink wine in this country?

After finishing the wine, Frank and Max walked out into the garage. Sophie knew that the excuse they had given her, that they were going to discuss 'old times' was a load of crap. Frank couldn't have been more that twenty, and a twenty year could not afford to live in such lavish surroundings unless they had inherited a family fortune or were involved in some illegal activity, and since she knew that his father was a police officer, the first option was ruled out.

And so Sophie sat, staring at her drink, and contemplating why she felt so annoyed at the fact that she didn't have Frank Martin figured out, and wondering what her life would be like from now on. Her thoughts led her to memories of her previous life, and the person she was before the accident. She was carefree and giggly, always around people and the center of attention. People were drawn to her not because she popular by being a bitch, but because she was truly and genuinely nice. Being raised in privileged surrounding and without a mother hadn't done anything to lessen her good attitude toward life or to turn her into a selfish brat. But that was all gone now, and she knew it was her fault; she was driving the car when the accident happened so it was her fault her father was dead. Her way of dealing with it was locking herself in her room and doing something she had never thought she would do.

A couple of days after being released from the hospital, she had hobbled into her father's room in tears, overcome with emotions. She had plopped down onto the huge bed and stared around the room, remembering past times and such. Then she spotted the bathroom door; it was open a crack. She remembered how she used to sneak into the oversize Jacuzzi when her dad was out of town and soak for hours. She had stumbled into the bathroom and regarded the marble tub with cold eyes. Then she had turned on the water; when it was filled, she had climbed in and submerged herself until she couldn't breathe. Unfortunately, the housekeeper had barged in before Sophie drowned. The portly middle-aged woman had been livid. For the next week, she subjected her charge to constant scrutiny. One night, Sophie walked to the bathroom again and had stolen an unused razor. That night was the first night she had cut herself; the pain had brought blessed relief from the constant guilt and grief. It felt as if from having something acute to concentrate on, she could dull the mental and emotional pain. However, the next morning she had been terrified of what would happen if she was found out, so she started wearing long-sleeved shirts more and more often, along with as many bracelets as could fit on her wrist.

To make matters worse, her friends would not give up trying to see her. Everyday they came; before driving home from the up scale prep school that Sophie had attended in the expensive cars that had been given to them by their rich parents. But Sophie was adamant that she be kept alone, so pretty soon, her former friends and classmates had stopped talking to her altogether. And then there was the scar. It was huge and glaring, on her upper leg. It was a constant reminder of the accident, which had been what caused it. Every time she changed, or limped instead of walked, her mind replayed the horrible last moments of her father's death.

Sophie took the last sip of her drink and rested her head in her hand. Then it occurred to her that she hadn't even bothered to look around the room. She threw the can away and started walking around the living room and turned in a full circle, taking in the sight of the room. The bookcase was what caught her eye, and she walked over to it. Reading the many titles, she came upon a very old leather-bound book. Taking it off the shelf, she realized what the title was. _The Once and Future King_; she grimaced. It had been her father's favorite book. Sighing deeply, Sophie made her way over to the couch and sat down, opening the aging book. After five minutes of reading, she returned the book to its rightful place. She was so immersed in browsing all of the titles that she didn't hear Frank approach.

Frank took his time to observe the young girl in front of him. Despite being only sixteen, she was already mature enough to be considered a woman, and her body helped that. She was medium height, slim but curvy, and endowed with long legs. Her skin was the tanned shade that most girls from California had, but it was now considerably paler since she had spent the last three weeks inside. Her eyes were a deep brown, and her chestnut brown hair hung below her shoulder-blades.

By the time he realized he was staring, she was reaching up to take another book. Amused with the fact that she was reading his father's most precious possessions, he waited to see which one she would choose. She reached up to retrieve a copy of _Anna Karenina_, making her bracelets slide further up her arm, exposing her wrists. Frank's mouth opened slightly at the sight of several angry red welts on the delicate skin of her wrists. He cleared his throat slightly and Sophie jumped, her hand flying to her throat. Frank stared at her, hard.

She stared back at him suspiciously. Then she realized that his eyes kept darting to her bracelets. Suddenly her hands felt clammy; he must have seen the cuts when she was getting the book. But that meant that he had been standing there for quite a while, and that made Sophie none too thrilled. She was even less thrilled at the prospect of Uncle Max finding out what she had been doing when she was locked up in her room.

"What?" she finally snapped, crossing her arms.

Frank looked at her sharply. He had just seen something that had completely surprised him, something that no one should have been doing, and she was yelling at him? He usually didn't hold any stock in the popular belief that Americans were forward, but this girl was proving to be just that.

"Why the bracelets?" he asked.

Sophie narrowed her eyes; he knew perfectly well why she wore her bracelets. Deciding not to dignify the query with a response, she brushed past him, but he grabbed her arm. She ripped it from him, but this time he took her right wrist in both of his hands and pushed the bracelets back. There were countless red marks there.

Seeing him staring at her skin like that, with pity and something resembling outrage, she began to get scared. "Why?" he muttered. Jerking her hand away, she practically ran from the room and out to Max Tarconi's car.

Frank didn't go after her, sensing that she needed some alone time. But he was worried. What had driven her to such an extreme? And he was at a loss. If he told Max what was going on, he would have to no doubt deal with the brunt of a teenaged girl's anger. If he kept it a secret, he would have to live with the knowledge that he had known that a girl was hurting herself and that he hadn't done anything about it. In the end, he decided that it wasn't his business, and that what would happen would also remain none of his business. Still, he felt a sense of dread for the American girl that he had just met.

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Max Tarconi walked out to his car. He saw Sophie huddled in the front seat with her arms around her and tears streaming down her cheeks. He had told Frank a hasty good-bye before running out to comfort his bereaved niece. Climbing into the car, he didn't know how to act. He had never done well with crying females, especially young ones. Still, he wrapped his arms around Sophie and to his relief she didn't pull away.

Sobbing onto the shoulder of the only family she had left, Sophie knew that she couldn't face people yet. She just wasn't ready to meet new people and start a new life when she was still not over the tragedy of the one she had lost.

"Don't make me go to school," she sobbed, her body shaking. "Please don't make me go to school."

"Sshhh," her uncle soothed. "You don't have to go anywhere if you don't want to."

Sophie stopped crying just as they reached Max's house.


	3. Chapter 3

CHAPTER TWO

Two Years Later

Sophie sat at the desk in her uncle's office and stared out the window. The feelings she was experiencing assaulted her like an ambush, and it was all she could do to keep from crying. Tomorrow would change her life. Tomorrow would bring havoc, confusion, and irritation. Tomorrow, Sophie Jones left for college in the States.

Unlike most other people her age, she was not as excited as she should have been. She should have been prancing with joy at the thought of 'escaping' strict guardianship; at the thought of freedom and less responsibility. And yet she knew that was not the way it was going to be: moving out created even _more _responsibility and problems. She shuddered just thinking about it.

Sophie had grown to love her uncle with the two years she had lived with him. France had proved to be a good remedy, but it was not enough. At the prospect of school, she had fallen into depression, and had nearly cut off all human contact; it hadn't been especially hard, considering the only person she knew in the country had been her uncle, and he worked irregular hours. Finally he had noticed, and had promised her that she could complete high school through a gifted program at Princeton on the internet. And so she had, with honors too. It didn't overly excite her.

She swiveled around in the chair, trying to entertain herself, her eyes repeatedly scanning the picture of Max Tarconi and his former partner Albert Martin. She remembered all of the times that Max had gone to visit Frank, and all of the times she had refused, if subtly, to accompany him. She was nervous about Frank, and she didn't know why. If he hadn't told about her 'hobby' yet, then he most likely wouldn't tell now. At the moment, she was pretty sure that her uncle knew she didn't really have headaches every time he went to Marseilles.

Besides, Sophie had moved on. Her first year in France had been a very troubled one. There was an apartment a few doors down occupied by four University roommates. They weren't the most pristine citizens. She had first stumbled upon them climbing up the stairs, returning from a habitual walk; they had been smoking, and not cigarettes either. She had struck up a friendship. The next thing she knew, she was smoking and drinking every night. Then it had led to serious drugs; she had overdosed and had to be rushed to the hospital. Her uncle had been highly disappointed, and that had led to her stopping. However, she had picked up somewhat of a flippant attitude when she was among people. It had become a habit to act as though she didn't care in front of others. At home, she was the same quiet and withdrawn Sophie she had been when she had moved in with her uncle.

And sadly, he had found out about her cutting.

He had not been understanding at first, but who would be when a sixteen-year-old in their guardianship was hurting herself? When they had told him at the hospital, Max had been silent; he was at a complete loss of what to do. He had never been married, had never had any kids, he had never even had to take care of a plant in his life. But he had pulled himself together, for Sophie's sake, and for the sake of his own sanity. Now he understood more clearly the effects the death of her father were having on her. From then on, he became much more involved in her life.

And now she was leaving him. She felt as though she was betraying herself, as well as her uncle. It wasn't as if she would never come back; no, it was the fact that she got the feeling she forced people away from her. Her father's death and disappearance from her life were always on her mind—she thought it was her doing. Her uncle wouldn't be around her nearly as much now either.

She slowly left the chair and walked to the kitchen, wondering how she was going to feed herself when she was independent. She barely ate anyways; without her uncle and his constant attention, she would have given up on everything altogether, but her desire to make him proud drove her. And everyone needed something to drive them.

Sighing, Sophie rested her chin on her hand as she munched on an apple, contemplating her life and all of its possible courses. She was so preoccupied that she didn't notice Max arrive, bearing a large white box.

It turned out to be a laptop—a very expensive and high-tech laptop. Her uncle said it was for college, and a way to keep in touch with him. She smiled and hugged him.

Two hours later, she was on a plane once again.


	4. Chapter 4

CHAPTER THREE

Sophie stared out at the country of France, getting a strange feeling of déjà vu.

Well, at least it was good déjà vu.

During her time back in the States, Sophie had matured. Physically, she could rival Monica Belluci. Mentally, her state of being had improved immensely. She didn't dwell on the bad as much as she used to. Of course, there was the occasional bad day, but the good days outweighed the bad.

She had obtained a Bachelor's in Journalism, and minored in French. Going to school in her first natural environment had done her a world of good. Sophie had even had several boyfriends, though none of her relationships had lasted more than a few months.

Pushing back flashbacks of her last rather messy breakup, she concentrated on the now. She was looking forward to seeing her uncle again more than she had ever looked forward to anything. They had talked once or twice a week, every week, and she had gone back to Marseilles almost every Christmas, but it was not nearly like the bond they had formed after her stay at the hospital. Max had almost filled up the void the loss of her father had left, but he never tried to replace him, for which she was grateful.

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Following an almost tearful greeting by Max and a delicious multiple course lunch, Sophie was on her way to see Frank Martin for the first time in roughly half a decade. Max Tarconi told his niece that he had an especially important appointment in that area, so it was a good idea that they drop by Frank's. Sophie had not had the heart to refuse. She didn't want he uncle to worry about her disliking the only son of his very good and departed friend.

She wondered how he had changed, or even if he had changed. Frank struck her as the kind of person that didn't alter themselves much because of extreme self-assurance. Her mind was also filled with a strange need to find out if he had thought about her at all. It was unexplainable, this need. The sensation somewhat resembled thirst.

Her thoughts left that topic, however, when they pulled up to the villa once again. She tired to shove away the butterflies in her stomach and the irritatingly girlish feelings that accompanied them. She was nervous though, she had to admit.

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Frank was digging around in the hood of his car when he heard another car pulling into his driveway. Suddenly he remembered that Max was dropping by today.

Putting away all of his tools and wiping his hands free of grease, he walked out of the garage and towards the front of his home, only to stop short when he spotted exactly who had accompanied Max.

A stunning brunette climbed out of the dingy old four-door, sliding a pair of designer sunglasses onto the top of her head. Clad in a pale pink tank top, a jean skirt, and slightly high-heeled sandals, she turned her head just in time to see him start walking towards her.

It took Frank a good minute to recognize just who this beauty was. He couldn't believe that the angry little teenager had transformed so much. Then again, time changed people.

By the time he reached the car, he realized that she was smiling at him shyly. He gave her a smirk, causing a certain fire to begin within her eyes. Her smile dropped a little in intensity.

"So, Frank, how is life?" Max interrupted the silent interlude.

"Life is good. How about yourself?" The last part was directed more to Sophie; she merely looked at him. Max used this opportunity to brag.

"Sophie just graduated college," he stated, somewhat unsure as to why Frank and his niece were regarding each other with such intensity.

"Oh," Frank replied. "What kind of degree?"

"Journalism," Sophie jumped in before Max could say anything. Frank only nodded, raising his eyebrows for a fraction of a second.

Suddenly he turned around and led his visitors into the house. Sophie noted with some satisfaction that his shoulders were visibly tense.

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The tri spent a total of an hour over food and drinks engaged in discussion, in which Sophie was not very actively involved. She was secretly happy that she had been allowed wine this time, although the thought made her want to snort.

By six in the evening, the only thing left to talk about was Sophie's life in the States, and she was beginning to feel the effects of the wine. Frank noticed this.

"I hope you didn't drink this much in college," he stated when Max left for the bathroom.

Sophie attempted a sweet smile, but it came out more of a grimace. "Actually, I was concentrating too much on getting my thesis written and working at the same time to have time left over for partying."

Frank only nodded, not looking quiet convinced. In her slightly fuzzy mind, she took it as an indication that he thought she was lying. That was when Sophie got a little angry. Out of pure spite, the question that had been on her mind since she first glimpsed his car slipped out of her mouth.

"I've always wondered, Frank, how you made your living."

He took a moment to look at her. "I'm a driver."

"Hm. That is very interesting. I haven't heard of many drivers that can afford homes on the coast of the Mediterranean and luxury cars."

"What was your thesis about?" He asked through a slightly tight jaw.

"The transportation of goods illegally. You know, at first I didn't think I could make it as a journalist. But then I really started researching. And guess what happened? A year before I graduated I was offered an internship at the Times. I even helped uncover a drug ring on campus." She waited to see his reaction.

His jaw was clenched tightly; tighter than it was a minute ago.

Her uncle chose that moment to make his appearance again. He was shocked at the tension in the room.

"Sophie, I have to get going. I'm sorry for bringing this up so suddenly, but could Sophie possibly spend the night Frank?" Both members of his audience stared at him, stunned. "I don't know how long this thing will take." When he got no further reaction, he told his niece he would pick her up in the morning, thanked Frank, and walked out the door.

Sophie and Frank silently regarded each other, until she grabbed the bottle of wine and her glass and stalked towards the couch.

Frank sighed.

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Thanks so much for the reviews! They are greatly appreciated! Keep them coming, while I'm still inspired. Or at least until the holidays are over, because school resumes people!


	5. Chapter 5

CHAPTER FOUR

Sophie plopped down onto the couch and promptly began filling her glass with wine. She could hear Frank rise and began cleaning up the kitchen. After her second glass of wine, he joined her.

"Mind if I join you?" he asked, attempting to me civil.

Sophie snorted. "It's not like I have much of a choice." Frank frowned. If she noticed it, no indication was given.

And so they commenced, each downing at least three more glasses of vintage wine. It wasn't quite enough for Frank to become drunk, but Sophie was completely inebriated. By her fourth glass, she was chattering animatedly at Frank, who merely regarded his charge for the night with a slight smirk.

"And so we're sitting there, and in walks this little old lady with a dog, one of those miniature poodles, the kind that never stop barking, you know. So I say to him, 'Maybe we should get out of here,' but he just looks at the poodle and starts making these _ridiculous _noises, and I tell you, it was the _funniest _thing I've ever seen. A grown man making fart noises at a blue dog! I started laughing, and I honestly couldn't stop. The little lady didn't find the situation so funny though." Here her story paused, and Sophie frowned faintly. "In fact, she started went after him with her purse…did you know that rich old ladies carry bags that weigh as much as a bag of bricks? He got up and ran out of the restaurant." Sophie began laughing. "He ran out of the place like a ghost was chasing him!"

Frank watched almost calmly as Sophie toppled off the couch in a fit of near hysterical laughter before leaning back and letting his own laughter loose. The pair had been snickering for almost a full minute when Frank glanced down at the brunette on the floor and noticed that her skirt had risen during her fall, exposing her right upper thigh.

What this afforded Frank was a more than ample view of the angry white lines that raged on an expanse of smooth skin. It occurred to him that this was another result of the accident in which Sophie's father had lost his life.

Meanwhile, Sophie became aware of the absence of Frank's rumbling laugh, and noticed that he was gazing at her leg so attentively that it scared her. She looked down and saw her exposed thigh. The sight sobered her instantly.

Quickly rising, she tugged her skirt down, planted her hands on her hips and glared at Frank more or less accusingly. She didn't quite know why she felt so betrayed. She did know that she felt angry, and it wasn't wholly at Frank. It was her own fault for letting herself get drunk enough to make jokes with a man she considered more or less her enemy.

Somewhere in the back of her fuzzy mind Sophie wondered when exactly she had begun to view Frank as an enemy.

Frank, however, was almost riveted by the sight of her standing in front of him, anger and frustration pouring out of rich brown eyes. At the moment, those eyes were anything but friendly, and Frank wasn't going to let them stay directed at him.

He reached out and pulled on Sophie's arm, effectively seating her back on the couch. He was just about to put an arm around her when she nearly flew from the couch and stood, staring at him again.

"Sophie," he began, not used to comforting, "I know that this is hard to get over—"

"Oh, how do you know!" She screamed at him. "How do you know what it's like to go through life knowing that it's your fault the person you loved the most in the entire world is dead!" She glanced at the bookshelves, becoming immersed in the reflection of the gold titles on leather binding. "How could you possibly know the kind of quilt that brings every Goddamn day!" She yelled in his general direction.

Frank was getting angrier by the second. How dare she come into this house, drink his wine, and then start shouting at him, when she didn't know anything about his past? He stood up and stalked over to her, grabbing an arm and yanking her around. This seemed to make her even angrier, if that were at all possible.

"You don't know anything at all about me, you ungrateful little brat," he stated calmly to her face. "You don't know what kind of ordeals I've been through. I bet Max never told you that I am responsible for my parents' death, did he? No, of course he didn't. So before you start accusing me of being insensitive, think about the person you're screeching at and what they could have possibly been through."

To his immense surprise, Sophie didn't scream again, didn't hit him, and didn't hurl profanities. Instead, she seemed to collapse as tears poured out of those deep eyes and onto flushed cheeks. Frank caught her, hugging her around the waist and brining her head to his shoulder.

Sophie hadn't cried this much since her first meeting with Frank Martin. In fact, she had never cried this hard in her entire life. What was it with this man and his ability to bring her emotional stability to its knees?

It was then that it dawned on her that she was crying in the arms of the man in front of whom she wanted to be the most strong. It also registered to her that his arms felt extremely nice around her middle. That thought brought her to her senses.

Frank felt Sophie stiffen in his arms, then pause. She disentangled herself from his support and pulled away.

"I think I'm going to bed now," she stated icily. Frank watched as she turned and stalked up the stairs.

He shook his head before putting it in his hands.

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Voila. Forgive the long update.


	6. Chapter 6

CHAPTER FIVE

Sophie sighed tiredly as she glanced at the clock on the dashboard of her Altima, parked conveniently in an alley across from a sagging old warehouse. Exactly one minute had passed since the last time she had checked. Resting her head in her hand, she continued to gaze at the darkened building ahead of her, wondering why it was exactly that drug lords couldn't just appear when they were wanted to.

It was her first big assignment for the Times, and she was more than just a little nervous. It wasn't that she doubted her ability to defend herself, it was the fact that her surveillance was already at the length of two hours and no sign of life had as of yet come from the dilapidated warehouse she was watching.

However, she was proud of herself; after only four and a half months of working for one of the most prestigious newspapers in the nation, her boss had informed her that she was to cover the story of one of Manhattan's most notorious drug dealers. Not only was Alex Nomikov sitting pretty in the center of New York's drug network (with a Hispanic mother and a Russian father) the man was positively ruthless.

After digging around and following Nomikov for nearly a month, Sophie had discovered that the list of his rather grisly 'accomplishments' was extraordinary: at twenty, he had 'convinced' his father to hand over the reigns of the family business; three years later, seven of Alex's most worthy opponents were found brutally shot to death in a gruesome tribute to Al Capone and his masterful orchestration of the St. Valentine's Day Massacre; and now, at twenty eight, Nomikov wholly controlled the New York underground.

Sophie was thrilled.

Just when she thought that no one was in the building anymore, she saw a light switch on. It was followed by a silenced gun shot and a sickening splat. Shivering with excitement, Sophie grabbed her purse and slipped out of the dark blue car, and shutting the door as quietly as possible, began the trek across the street.

The next gunshot gave her pause, but however strong her misgivings about her upcoming circumstances were, she continued around the side of the building and slipped in through a slightly ajar exit door.

Not five seconds after entering the warehouse, she heard another shot, and following the sound, stumbled upon the hallway adjacent to the room in which Alex Nomikov and his less that upstanding colleagues were more than likely torturing the man's latest enemy. It was all she could do to keep from snorting at his predictable psychopathic means of entertainment.

Quickly opening her purse, Sophie pulled out her recorder and silently made her way over to the only source of light in the darkened building.

The first sound that met her ears was a man's painful pants, followed by a chillingly controlled voice with a slight Russian accent.

"Tell me, did you honestly think you stood even a tiny chance of playing both sides?" Nomikov asked, his anger evident. "It is nearly impossible. Would you like me to tell you why?"

He paused; the sound of a gun being cocked could be heard.

"It is impossible because you are leading a double life. It is not healthy for the psyche. In fact, your recent sniveling activities can almost be compared to a rather unfortunate psychological disorder. Multiple personality disorder, perhaps you've heard of it?"

There was a shot followed by a man's stifled scream.

"Of course you have." His sneer could be heard through his voice. "In fact, you yourself could be considered a defect. Do you know what they used to do to people like you?"

The gun cocked again. The victim's desperate smothered pleas rose in intensity.

"They used to kill them."

The man's gagged cries stopped.

Sophie had to cover her mouth to keep from vomiting. The criminal was even more heartless than she had originally thought.

That thought, however, was dispelled when the sound of a body landing on the floor was heard. Dropping the recorder back into her purse, Sophie turned around and began walking as fast and quietly as she could towards the door that she had used to gain entrance to the building, and upon reaching it, discovered one very unusual thing.

It was locked.

Pushing down the panic, Sophie slowly glanced around the dank hallway, looking for any other means of escape. Noting that there were no windows anywhere in sight, the panic swung in full force.

Breathing deeply and trying to get her pulse rate back to normal, Sophie set off down the hallway to her right, hoping to God that there was a door or and open window that she could climb out of. She had walked for about ten seconds when she heard footsteps behind her.

Despite all of her previously learned techniques of calm, every single piece of advice and training she had been given to survive in situations like these deserted her, and so, she ran.

She ran so fast and so heedlessly, in fact, that she didn't even know where she was headed; she ran so far and so blindly that she only stopped at a dead end, with the footsteps following her all the way. Sophie was about to turn and attempt to find her bearings when a bullet ricoched off the wall not three inches from her head.

"Turn around," a soft voice commanded from behind her. She silently obeyed, only to be met with the barrel of a gun pointed directly between her eyes. "Follow me," was murmured before the metal was retracted from her forehead.

The man stepped away from Sophie, gesturing with his handgun in the direction that she had come from. Gulping, Sophie slowly stepped forward, and was not all that surprised when the man grabbed her arm roughly and began fairly dragging her to what she presumed to be the room that Nomikov was occupying.

"He'll like you," the thug stated; Sophie began trembling.

Although Sophie had seen Alex Nomikov on film, she was not prepared for his presence. Psychotic control freak or not, Nomikov still possessed a handsome face, dark hair, and broad shoulders. If she had been in any other situation, Sophie would have thought him exactly her type, had it not been for the utter iciness and condescension shining through his pale eyes.

Nevertheless, this was not that situation, and the only thoughts swirling around Sophie's anxiety ridden mind were of the numerous slow and horrible deaths this man could inflict on her, none of which were a welcome possibility.

Alex Nomikov, on the other hand, was entirely composed. He stood leaning against one wall, silently observing Sophie, taking in the black slacks, light purple blouse, and heeled sling-backs, as well as her disheveled hair and flushed face.

Smiling coldly, he pushed off the blood splattered wall and slowly walked towards shaking brunette, rubbing a hand over his chin slowly.

Sophie didn't like the purely predatory look on his slightly smiling face…not one bit.

He stopped about six inches away and stood, contemplating her face. This was when Sophie decided it would do her good to have an alibi. Maybe she could say that she was simply driving by and heard noise? Maybe she could say—

"So you're the little reporter that's been following, aren't you?"

Sophie froze, her mouth dropping open slightly. "How—"

"Oh come now, did you expect me not to know about all the people I have spying on me? What with all of your research I thought you would know that I have friends in high places." The absolute calm of his voice was enough to unravel Sophie further. "You should also know that people do not appreciate having their dealings be watched constantly and then reported, only to be published for the entire population of the greater New York area to read and discuss. See this man?" He turned around and lightly pushed the dead body on the floor with his foot, looking at the corpse disdainfully. "This was the last person that attempted to interrupt my operations." Nomikov sighed almost regretfully. "Some people just don't know when to mind their own business. Like you."

He walked back to Sophie, this time stopping a mere couple of inches from her face. "What will I do with you? I suppose you've gotten a good deal of information tonight haven't you?" Nomikov tilted his head to the side. "Yes, I have no doubt that you have."

Sophie resumed breathing as he grabbed her purse and dumped its contents onto the red concrete floor. Picking up the recorder, he rewound the tape and played it back. Glancing at the woman in front of him, he raised his eyebrows as if in appreciation.

"Well," he began, "what to do. I assume that you are capable of forgetting the information you so carefully collected tonight, aren't you?" Sophie felt a ray of hope. "But the thing is, I don't know if I can trust you." The ray of hope vanished as Alex stalked towards her again. She felt tears prickle the back of her eyelids as he grabbed her around the waist and brought her closer to him; bile began to rise in her throat at the close contact.

Nomikov pulled something out of his back pocket, all the while regarding the shaking Sophie.

_Oh God, this it…I'm going to die, I'm going to die!_

Expecting to feel a bullet impact her temple, Sophie squeezed her eyes shut. Therefore, she was immensely surprised when instead of a bullet, she felt cool cotton against her face. Breathing a sigh of relief, she breathed in before remembering that chloroform was a very popular substance used by those involved in not-so-legal activities.

The last thought that floated through her mind before Sophie's world went black was why it was that she forgot everything important at the most crucial moments, and a curse at herself, Nomikov, and every other Goddamn thing under the sun.

**Author's Note: **Well there you go. I've got a question for my readers: what did you think of my villain? Should I make him funny, perverted? Do tell, suggestions are always welcome. Oh, and thanks for reviewing! D


	7. Chapter 7

CHAPTER SIX

Frank Martin was not having a good day. Scratch that, he wasn't having a good _year. _First the ordeal with Lai and her psychotic freak of a father, and then the run-in with Gianni, finding Jack and returning him safe and sound to Audrey…who had seemed not in the least bit reluctant to let go of whatever might have been and go back to her husband. He had even thrown his rules out the proverbial window; they had always ended up being broken anyway. The lack of at least that stability was enough to make him a bit antsy.

No…it most definitely was _not _a good year.

Which was why he now found himself stuck in heavy Manhattan traffic. New York was almost a culture shock compared to California; the people were different, the sights were different, hell, even the air seemed different somehow. Maybe that was due to the almost constant fumes of odor wafting around or the congesting quality of the public's shouts, but he wasn't complaining. Drowned most of the thoughts from his head…an almost pleasant distraction.

At least it was until the entirety of the population of New York City appeared to have gone horn-happy. What was with these people? Sighing curtly in frustration, Frank began maneuvering his brand-spanking new black 720 towards his exit, edging past a middle-aged woman in a mini-van, casting a small smile in her direction. The snarl she sent him and the near collision her anger caused struck him as almost certain knowledge that he would soon seriously doubt his decision to move to New York.

"Wench," he muttered, speeding off the freeway and onto country roads on the way to meet his newest client, an Alex Nomikov, who was apparently the new ring-leader of the Russian thugs that permeated New York. Frank sighed. Another idiot with delusions of grandeur. The only bit of knowledge worth anything procured by Frank's research was that Mr. Nomikov was exceptionally sadistic. The pictures taken of what was believed to be his latest victim were gruesome, to put it lightly. Who knew the Russian underground could procure weapons capable of such precise torture? And on the deceased, no less. No respect at all.

Frank resisted the urge to roll his eyes as he pulled up to the Victorian home specified in during his brief conversation with Nomikov's second-in-command. Sergei had said a mile from the edge of the city, the tan three-story house, which turned out to be the most frightening shade of vanilla (strangely resembling melted ice cream left out too long) Frank had ever had the misfortune of witnessing. One would think a steadily rising criminal would consider maintaining at least a semblance of anonymity; the line of two Beamers, three Mercedes, and a Hummer, compounded with the pulsing base of techno emerging from the horrendous mansion, served to prove otherwise.

It was safe to say that as Alex sauntered out of the house clad in a wind breaker and matching pants, Frank didn't know what to expect. The man probably only wanted him to deliver coke or some such thing. So the sight of a stocky fellow walked out behind Nomikov toting a _yellow_ oversized duffle bag made Frank understandably apprehensive. The hefting of the stuffed, still bag into his trunk and the slamming of said trunk, along with Nomikov's subsequent tossing of the agreed sum into Frank's lap added to the irritation that had been building all day. So much so, in fact, that Frank considered ending the deal then and there.

Five years in the Air Force, another seven spent establishing his credentials, and for what? To become a peddler for an idiot with ridiculously gelled hair?

"Dispose of it," Alex broke his thoughts before turning away and going back into the house.

_Ah. A garbage man then. _

Nope. No respect at all.

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Sophie groggily came to as her forehead softly made contact with something hard. Opening her eyes, she found that she couldn't see. Why was it so dark? She always left the hallway light on in her apartment, a habit since childhood. Reaching up to rub her eyes and finding that she couldn't caused her alarm to grow, leading to downright panic upon the realization that her ankles were bound as well.

And in a most uncomfortable position; it felt as though she were kneeling with her hands and feet tied behind her back, only…on her side…and in a moving vehicle. What the _hell?_

Was she being kidnapped? Various reasons as to why she would be tied tightly in the trunk of a car ran through her head until she remembered what had happened before her little tryst with unconsciousness. Fear infused itself into her spine. Her research and somewhat limited field experience had done nothing to prepare her for the very realistic possibility that she might actually be…_off-_ed

_Oh God…what if they torture me first? _She shuddered, wriggling her limbs with renewed strength. Maybe one of them would get loose…so valiant was her struggle that in her haste to escape a certain doom at the ruthless hands of Alex Nomikov and her relief at having one foot free, that she couldn't control the appendage as it surged to life with renewed blood flow and kicked the roof of the trunk…very loudly.

_Damn._

She started pulling at the ropes with even more energy.

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Frank was contemplating the various ways in which he would spend his time if he ever retired (find a new villa somewhere, maybe Greece, acquire honest work, maybe find someone without pathological tendencies toward fibbing, and single) when he heard it.

_Not _this _again. _Good Lord, the sound made his skin crawl.

He pulled onto the shoulder and slammed on the breaks, somewhat satisfied at hearing the muffled groan come from his trunk. What was it about him today that kept attracting trouble? Was it some karmic kick in the ass for all of the illegal activities he had been involved in over the years? The day could not get any worse.

At least that was what he thought until he popped his trunk and was met with the sight of the anxious brown eyes of one Sophie Jones.

**A/N**: Hey peeps, sorry for the long update. Hope you enjoyed this chapter! More to come soon.


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